


hiding inside my dreams (counting every sheep)

by tamquamm



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dreamfuckery but like the good kind, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightwash, Silent Conversations, mostly comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquamm/pseuds/tamquamm
Summary: “The black stuff, it’s nightwash.”“Where’d you find that out?” The sleep is there in Adam’s voice, but there’s curiosity, too.“I didn’t,” Ronan hums into the pillow. “I made it up. Just now.” He leans his head back until he can feel Adam there, too. “Sounds scary right? Kinda sexy.”Adam rolls his eyes, not that Ronan can see it, but he can definitely sense it. “Okay. Nightwash, then.” He shifts again, back to how he was positioned before. Typical. “Now you know what to call it when you make it stop.”
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 9
Kudos: 132
Collections: TRC/ CDTH Prompt Week 2020





	hiding inside my dreams (counting every sheep)

**Author's Note:**

> for day two of trc/cdth prompt week: hurt/comfort!

“You have to stop.”

“I  _ did _ stop,” Ronan snaps, turning his face head until his chin slips from Adam’s grip. He uses the back of his hand to wipe at his nose and bristles with the realization that he’s only smeared the black stuff all over his face instead. “Fuck this,” he makes to get up.

Adam put a hand on his shoulder, firm. Not enough that it’s actually preventing Ronan from getting up and stomping out, but enough to ground him, to bring him back, just for a moment.

“I meant you have to stop doing this to yourself,” Adam sighs. He lets his hand slip from Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan stays where he is, perched on the lip of the bathtub in nothing but his boxers, shirt discarded after finding it covered in the black stuff. Adam kneels in front him then, cradles Ronan’s face in both hands. He stays like that until Ronan finally lets out a breath and meets his eyes.

“I’m scared,” is what Ronan finally says, confessional, quiet enough that Adam would’ve missed it if he wasn’t waiting for it. It’s dark, but the moon’s bright enough to leave streaks of low silvery light in through the window, highlighting the tension in Ronan’s face. Adam leans in, kisses him like it might melt it away.

It doesn’t, but it’s better than before.

Adam grabs the washcloth, it’s still damp from when he tried to dab at Ronan before. Ronan lets him this time, leans into the hand still cupping one of his cheeks and lets Adam angle him the way he needs to. Gently, Adam pats away the black stuff until it’s cleaned off, then wipes a clean edge over Ronan’s face just for good measure.

He tosses the washcloth into the overflowing hamper when he’s done, doesn’t pay it much mind. Instead, he takes one of Ronan’s hands in his own and curls their fingers together. He rests his head on Ronan’s chest and in turn, Ronan rests his head on the crown of Adam’s. 

They stay like that for a minute, silently tucked together. It’s still a conversation, an understanding between them, but words aren’t necessary for it. Wrapped in the seepage of moonlight, like it’s joined in and hugging them, too. Adam tunes into the drum of Ronan’s heartbeat, follows it as it steadies out. Tunes into the rhythm of his breath, and realizes he’s matched each of his own inhales and exhales with Ronan’s. 

They stay like that until Adam feels Ronan fully relax, physically feels the tension slip out of him and shed unto the tiles of the bathroom floor. He tilts his head up, then, cranes his neck until he can plant a trail of kisses along Ronan’s jawline. Soft, chaste. Meaningful. 

“Come on,” Adam slowly rises off his knees, a little unsteady on his feet but balancing himself with Ronan’s hand in his. He leans down one more time, plants a kiss on Ronan’s forehead. “Let’s go to bed.”

~

Adam practically wrestles Ronan back into bed. Ronan practically lets him. 

Sometimes Ronan is convinced that Adam knows him better than he knows himself. Knows exactly what he needs when Ronan can’t quite pinpoint it. Like right now, when Adam presses close behind him, throws an arm and leg over him. How he knows to kick away the comforter but pull the top sheet tightly around them, cocooning them together. How Adam knows to give Ronan as much contact as he’s willing to give him, his cheek snuggled against Ronan’s shoulder where it belongs, a perfect fit.

How he knows to hold his hand tightly, pressed safely against Ronan’s chest, a reminder that he’s here, they’re here, together.

Ronan lets his thoughts wander for a little bit, while he’s safely tangled with Adam as a tether to remind himself to reel himself back if he strays too far with the bad ones. The black stuff is getting more common, more problematic than he cares to admit. Black stuff. He’s getting tired of calling it that. If it’s going to be a thorn in his side, it might as well sound badass.

“Nightwash,” Ronan says, breaking the silence. 

“Huh?” Adam shifts, inquisitive, but otherwise doesn’t push further. Ronan feels his exhale over his skin and latches onto the feeling of it.

“The black stuff, it’s nightwash.”

“Where’d you find that out?” The sleep is there in Adam’s voice, but there’s curiosity, too.

“I didn’t,” Ronan hums into the pillow. “I made it up. Just now.” He leans his head back until he can feel Adam there, too. “Sounds scary right? Kinda sexy.”

Adam rolls his eyes, not that Ronan can see it, but he can definitely sense it. “Okay. Nightwash, then.” He shifts again, back to how he was positioned before. Typical. “Now you know what to call it when you make it stop.”

Ronan tries not to show his reaction, but he knows better than to try to hide it from Adam. He knows it’s obvious the way his breath stutters, the tired sigh he lets out in an unsteady exhale. It’s more of a problem than he’d like to admit, than he’d like to burden Adam with. It’s dumb, really, because he knows that Adam knows this all already.

“It’s okay,” Adam murmurs against his skin. Ronan can feel the vibrations, the whispers of his words more than he hears them. Somehow that makes them even louder, drives them home even further. “I’m here. It’s me and you. So it’ll be okay.”

Ronan knows instantly what Adam means, what he’s trying to say with his sleepy, sparing syllables. It’s a reminder that there’s nothing they can’t face between the two of them. For reasons of the magical variety, sure. But for reasons deeper than that, too.

It’s not that Ronan is scared of his own dreams, not anymore and not for a long while. But it’s hard to fall asleep naturally when he’s lived so long resisting it. With the residual pull of hesitance, what used to be attached to the repercussions of his wild dreams now attached to sleep itself and difficult to shake away. 

There’s always a possibility that something could go wrong, and he could endanger Adam, who is so determined to stay right there with him. To protect him, to remind him of his self, to steady him; maybe all of the above, maybe none at all, Ronan isn’t sure. But is sure that Adam refuses to leave him when he can feel that Ronan needs him, and it’s a strange mix of conflicted feelings.

Adam squeezes his hand, instantly snapping Ronan out of his thoughts. He presses impossibly closer and Ronan can already feel himself overcome with the feeling of it. Adam’s weight keeps him grounded, Adam’s warmth keeps him calm. Adam lets him sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” Adam murmurs, and Ronan can tell he’s already half asleep. It’s an innocuous expression, but he knows Adam says it with much more meaning than just that. He’ll dream tonight, for Adam.

~

Not only does Ronan dream  _ for _ Adam, but he dreams  _ of  _ him, too.

It’s not as concrete and lucid as he usually dreams, but it’s just as vivid and lively and intense as always, maybe even more. It’s the cadence of Adam’s voice, notes that Ronan leans in closer to hear, familiar like a favorite song. The radiance of his smile, less of the visual and more of the warmth of it, a feeling that Ronan basks in and soaks in and wants to live the rest of his life in.

He dreams of the feeling of Adam’s muscles and skin, welcoming under his fingertips, his lips. The tingling feeling he associates with it, easily accompanying the swell of love and pride and hope that fills the pit of his stomach, the cavity of his chest, the expanse of his head. 

Ronan dreams of stolen glances, flashes of Adam he’d collected all that time ago. Little things, like the line of his jaw, the bounce in his hair, the ridges of his hands, the full of his lips. A collection, a collage, of all the pieces of Adam he yearned and wanted for, all of the pieces of Adam he has now.

He dreams of the feeling of Adam. Not physically, but the way Adam makes him feel, the way Adam instantly makes him feel a little better, a little more okay. Even when it’s rough, even when they fight, even when he’s hurting or Adam’s hurting. It’s not necessarily “good” or “better” on the surface, but a feeling of dedication, a feeling of purpose, a feeling of belonging. A feeling of home. 

Adam’s right, it’s okay. It’s  _ them. _

Ronan holds the feeling of Adam’s love in his hands, frenetic and wild, but warm and familiar and soothing all the same. 

~

You can’t take a  _ feeling _ out of a dream, but Ronan wakes up in paralysis anyway. 

He panics for a second, only because he’s not sure what he brought out, and that’s danger enough in itself. But he listens carefully, eyes around the room where he can manage. It’s quiet, it’s still; save for the even rise and fall of Adam’s chest where he’s still fast asleep, strewn across the bed and tangled in the topsheet. The morning sun comes in long streaks across the room, the bedspread, and the highlights of Adam’s face where drool is on his face. Ronan laughs to himself, mentally anyway, and calms enough to just enjoy the view.

As soon as Ronan feels his movement come back to him, his first instinct is to swipe the back of his hand over his nose. It’s dumb, he realizes, because he must’ve brought something back if he’d woken up like that. And if he brought something back, then there wouldn’t be nightwash. He checks his hand anyway, and is still relieved when it comes back clean.

He shifts to sit up, plants one hand at his side, and that’s when he finds it -- whatever it is that he brought back. He grabs it immediately, curious, and finally laughs when he sees it.

It’s Adam’s watch, a near identical copy. The only thing off is the feeling that it exudes, melts into Ronan’s skin. It’s a familiar swell of feelings, braided together. An unmistakable, warmth. An unshakeable warmth.

It’s the same feeling that Ronan had held in his hands, back in his dream. He knows exactly what this does.

There’s shuffling next to him, followed by a loud yawn and a familiar tussle of dusty blond hair, unkempt in its natural bedhead. “What’s that?” Adam’s voice is croaky with his first sleepy words of the day. Ronan watches as Adam rubs at the drool with a face, then blinks the sleep out of his eyes. Ronan watches all of this, the gold of the sunlight reflecting off the flyaway wisps of Adam’s hair, the brush of his lashes. He has a sudden urge to count the freckles that spatter Adam’s cheeks.

Instead, he grabs Adam’s wrist and strokes his thumb over the pale band of skin where his watch had left tan lines. He can feel his pulse, strong and present and there. Ronan is overcome with the realization that it’s one of those feelings, the ones wrapped up in his dreams, in the dream watch itself.

“Hm?” Adam doesn’t protest but he watches, mind still coming online and waiting to catch up. Ronan uses the opportunity to secure the dream watch over his wrist, buckling it securely in place.

“Okay?” Adam eyes it up, puzzled, “This is my watch.” 

But Ronan can tell that he senses something different from the watch, from the way it presses into his skin and must send the same pulses of that feeling up his arm and through his veins. “This isn’t my watch,” Adam decided a moment later.

“Dream watch,” Ronan confirms. 

Adam glances to the side table where he’d left his real watch the night before. Sure enough, it’s still sitting there, right where he left it. He looks to Ronan then, eyes inquisitive. 

Ronan scoffs. “It tells you what time it is wherever I am.”

“I mean, that works because we’re always in the same time zone… but I feel like this is still a design flaw.” Adam gives him a funny look, but he glances back at the watch and gives himself away with the way he marvels at it. 

Shrugging, Ronan scoots in closer until he can rest his head on Adam’s shoulder and get a better look at the watch. “I didn’t make it like that,” Ronan starts, but then he backtracks. “I mean, I made it. But I didn’t intend for it to manifest like that? It’s made out of…” he trails off, looking for the word for the feeling.

“Love,” Adam finishes for him, quiet, but honest and so, so sure. “I can feel it.”

Ronan doesn’t realize that he’d been looking for confirmation, validation, until Adam says it like that. Until Adam gives him exactly that. A name to the feeling, an identity to the perfect mix of warmth.

Adam grabs his hand then, using the hand with the watch strapped to his wrist above it. Ronan can feel the trickle of the feeling flow from Adam’s palm, his fingers, directly into his.

Ronan squeezes. He knows then that Adam’s right.

They’re going to be okay. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> okay so I know that ronan gives the watch to adam for christmas in cdth, but I relegated it to this nightwash curing day because I felt it would be fitting ^^;
> 
> [tumblr](http://tamquamm.tumblr.com/) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/typicaIrockstar)
> 
> rebloggable post for this fic is [here](https://tamquamm.tumblr.com/post/619196284419670016/)!


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